


Grim Visage

by necronism



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Horror, Other, Psychological Drama, fear of the unknown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:31:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4363208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necronism/pseuds/necronism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donny managed to pull himself out of that fire back, but for what? Everyone thinks he's dead, so he's better off moving on. Going back to the states, he finds a new home in Arizona that's basically in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, where he's all alone -- or so he is led to believe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grim Visage

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a few years back (it has absolutely nothing to do with the movie) and, since I still do a little roleplay as Donowitz, I figured I'd get all my old work up here as well as FFN. Just for kicks. Enjoy this weird thing I wrote one time in three hours at four in the morning when my phone was down for repair.

Donny first noticed them in the first few months he had moved to the farm and set up all his schedules to visit town. It wasn't  _until_  the sightings did he decide to switch those schedules so he would never have to leave the house. Everything was delivered to him - from groceries to new books that his service might have around or pick up along the way. Those sightings had scared enough sense into him so he would stay home and be good. It was spring when the first one wandered onto his property, without sound and without care. It was late at night, too, and the owls' crooning might have covered up his footsteps, or the sound of the man's truck pulling up. Whatever it may have been to hide its approach, its existence wasn't kept a secret. An old sheepdog that had lived at the farm as long as anyone could remember, a quiet old girl, began to bark. It was a fierce sound, masking an unmistakable terror if one were to listen carefully. Every few barks, a broken howl would follow.

That was what had woken Donny up the first night.

 It was  _only_  spring, which was hot enough in Buckeye even at night, even after the earth had cooled and the crickets had surfaced. He had kept the covers off him and stayed downstairs where owls didn't seem so loud. This saved him time as he went to front windows to watch the old sheepdog pace across the porch, bark, letting whatever was out there know that she was watching; and then she would retire before the door, ears pricked. Donny saw nothing,  _heard_  nothing, and didn’t even feel a change in the atmosphere as he thought he would if something "paranormal" were to sneak up on him. At the moment, that assumption felt pretty damn accurate. The dog's barking began to space out, and the howls became longer, until the animal could hardly breathe. She was left shivering, whimpering and snarling with her tail tucked in and ears flattened. Scared as she was, however, Donny couldn't manage to call her back inside.

He found himself  _mesmerized_.

Once or twice he called, tapping on the window to get her attention. She didn't budge, she was far too proud in her species to abandon her post. That was what animals did... So why wasn't Donny  _himself_  out there? He went for his bat, but hesitated as he felt the weight in his hands. It wasn't like old times. He went for the kitchen, grabbing the largest knife he could fine. If something or somewhere was out there, it'd be more inclined to turn tail and run if they saw a knife shining in the moonlight. 

His bare chest was greeted with an unfriendly chill as he stepped outside. That fuckin' dog was still going at it. Donny - for a split second - thought about falling upon the dog and cutting her throat just to get it to shut up.  _It was spooked_ , he had to reassure himself;  _there's nothing out there._  No such thing happened, of course. Donny stood by the animal's side and stared out across the field of wheat that rustled with every slight breeze. It was beautiful in the country, he often reminded himself, far too busy with tending to the occasional pony or calf. The lonely nights...  _not so much_.

There were no odd lights of a UFO, or a flattened row of rye made out to look like some suspicious symbol. There wasn't even a deathly silence to lead to the breaking of a storm. Well, maybe there has been one,but it had long been interrupted by the dog's incessant yowling. He thought once more about killing the dog. He had shot  _many_  defenseless creatures before,  _so what was wrong about it this time?_ He was human this time, that's what was wrong with it! The war may change a man, but a man with enough willpower to heal himself could bounce back. No more cruelty;  _however,_  it remained an option. The dog was old. She could have stumbled and broken a leg or two and out of the kindness of his heart, Donny had blown her brains out. Right now, he just needed it to be a  _deaf, dumb, blind, and **mute**_  dog so he could damn well  ** _focus_  **on whatever the  ** _fuck_  **was going on.

 

Donny stepped down off the porch. The dog let out a whine, begging her master to come back to where it was safe. Only then did he realize he was naked except for his boxer shorts. If someone were to find his mutilated body, they'd certainly question if he had been a question of questionable circumstance.  _If_  they found his mutilated body...  _If_  he were to be mutilated.

The dirt was cold now and the rye seemed a bit threatening as he drew near it. It whispered to him, of many decades gone past without anyone peeking in to see the coast was clear. He had this impending, _sinking_ , dark feeling in the pit of his stomach that **_something_ ** was waiting for him out there. He didn't have the smarts to put it into his instinct to run. Aldo had seen to that back in the day. _There's no fuckin' running from little spooks, Don._

Suddenly, the dog bolted. Donny grabbed at her as she darted past his legs, only managing a handful of fur that ripped cleaning from her hide. Horrified with what had happened, Donny seemed to busy himself wiping blood and fur down his front. The dog disappeared into the field, its barking becoming a mere echo as the animal lost itself further and further into the tall grass.

And then, _there was silence;_ that deathly, harrowing silence he had been waiting for. It deafened him, like the scary stories always said it would. He reeled back up onto the porch, looking every which direction for this vacuum of sound. **_Impossible._ ** Where was the dog? Where was this... phenomenon of some sort? All he could do as stand there and shake, knife in hand, mumbling to himself, looking like a right fucking child. There was no reassuring his pounding heart that the dog had just heard a strange animal, and would be back with said creature locked in her jaw.

Ten minutes of this passed and still, no dog. There was no more waving grass, nor owls to be heard. His world had come to a standstill.

Out of nowhere, Donny felt a scream bubble up inside of him. He arched his back, took a step toward the field and let it out. It stung like bile, burning between his teeth as he tried at once to silence himself. He didn't know  _why_  it happened; something told him to do it. At this stage in self-renovation, he was still touching down to Earth. Once all the air left his lungs, he was left listening to the screech fading into the distance. The rye grass rustled and he shrieked again, this time out of known fear. The knife was brought up to eye level, but it shook too terribly in his grasp to be of any use. He could see the dog's fur clinging to his sweaty palms, outlined in the moonlight. _Dear God, it was a full moon. Maybe the animal had caught some lunar fever and ran off. Maybe **Donny** was catching it, too._

But, no. No fever. Something was moving through the grass now, he could see it. It was moving fast, directly towards him, but the parting of the wheat suggested something much, _much_ larger than a dog. Much larger than a human. Without further comprehension, _it was there._ Standing not even five feet away from Donny, was this... **_black mass._ ** A mass so dark and dense that moonlight was unable to piece it. It had the body of a human, of that he was sure. But this thing's head seemed distorted, sickeningly so, almost bent out of shape on its neck. It may have had no eyes to be found, but Donny could feel it staring up at him.

He stumbled back toward the porch, only to fall right on his ass. The knife was held more like a gift now, his grip not too sure it could manage any stabs or slashes if that body came too near. But this thing, it... didn't move. This gave Donny the time to pull himself completely onto the porch and press against the front door of the house. His mentality slipped and he began to cry - _Oh, how **proud** Aldo would be of his fuckin' muscle if he could see him today._ Reaching behind him to try and find the door handle, he could now see the thing was beginning to move - in glides rather than steps.

" _What **are** you?!_ " Donny howled, desperately knocking his body against the door. The thing didn't answer, only stepped up onto the porch and loomed over Donny. Had it gotten _taller_?!

This was when he remembered his knife and finally threw it. The tip of the blade stuck deep into the thing's middle. There was a pause as the both looked down at the puncture, until the thing's body bent back and blood poured onto the porch. A moan followed its defeat as the black mass deflated where it stood. It stumbled down beside him, more and more limbs seeming to grow out of the fucking thing and grabbing at the knife. Nothing seemed able to reach the epicenter of its own pain, so Donny gave it a hand and yanked the blade from its gut. Despite the mess at his feet, there was no blood on the knife. He turned blade immediately and rammed the knife into the thing's - head, maybe? There was a  _chink_  and scrape of metal meeting bone. Almost _immediately_ the thing went still. Almost _immediately,_ as his adrenaline subsided into a throb, he saw the thing's face. The  _man's_ face.

Donny's blade had broken the side of his face, creating a clean cut across the man's temple and cheek bone. With the force of the initial blow, and Donny now working the serrated edges into flesh and muscle, the man's jaw been dislocated, a few teeth dislodged. Blood poured out of every orifice he could manage to see in the light of the moon. Blood Donny could finally feel rolling onto his arms and down his front. Blood he could finally _smell_.

_Goddamn **demon**_ , he thought, thinking back to those days in church when his little brothers asked about angels and what they looked like. No rabbi would give anyone a complete answer, that's how they were -- and this was what probably terrified everyone into going into temple. Not  _knowing_. He often teased his brothers by telling them that demons walked among them every single day, waiting for naughty boys they could snatch up and... His mother always scolded him for this, but the effect remained the same. Demons were everywhere and the disguised themselves because... _They were hideous, maybe?_ Maybe they were the most beautiful thing in the goddamn world, and they knew that, and they  _wanted_  to hide. Donny saw _nothing_  of beauty here.

As soon as the adrenaline left, and the fear was just a laughable memory. He got up on shaky legs and went back inside the house. The clock in the kitchen read midnight. Sure, that could be an omen for later on. Sure, that could be some sign for spooks yet to come. He would be rid of the body in the morning. Whatever fear he had felt was now in the past. Whatever tears he had shed were forgotten and his pride remained intact. No one had been around to see him have that moment, although Donny knew that - at the time - he _had_ been genuinely terrified. Hell, he had screamed his lungs out, something he only did when he felt victorious. Even then, his throat never burned. As he huddled in his bed, he could feel the fire burning deep within his gut. There was no doubt that he would lose his voice for the next day or two. If anyone asked ( _no one was going to_ ) he would tell them that the dog had just gotten loose and he had spent a bit too much time calling her name and trying to get her back.

Actually, he had almost forgotten about the body the next day, until he cut his chin while shaving. _The blood..._ He flew down the stairs and pulled the front door open... and saw nothing except an old nanny dog licking her bloody toes, covered in dirt, pines and prickles. There was the knife, a few inches from where he stood, but it looked pretty clean to him. It was returned to the kitchen, where Donny made, but did not eat, breakfast. At least the body was gone and he didn't have to deal with it. Even if that creature, that  _man_ , was somehow still alive, at least he wasn't dealing with him  _now_. The abandoned meal was given to the dog, which would from then on live inside with him, in this safe haven, for another few years; until one day, she would stumble down the stairs and Donny was forced to put a bullet between her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Who knows, maybe he's just seeing a few ghosts after all that smoke fogged up his better judgement? Poor bastard. (A shame he didn't wind up in Bright Falls; might have done the town some actual good for once.)


End file.
